


Chasing His Dear One

by cherryflesh



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, So Wrong It's Right, Sorry Not Sorry, What Have I Done, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:11:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryflesh/pseuds/cherryflesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS for season 1 episode 9! Takes place during the flashbacks to WW2, the morning after Abraham Setrakian got his hands crushed. What if things had gone a little bit differently that day, if Thomas Eichhorst had made more of an effort to keep Abraham? (future warnings may include non-con, dub-con, explicit sex, powerplay among other things).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing His Dear One

**Author's Note:**

> This... this might get very dark. I don't know if this is a one-shot, or if there may be more chapters. That kind of depends on the response I get. 
> 
> The actor playing Eichhorst in the teve series is excellent, but I do get a very creepy, rapey vide from the character now. When he unzipped his pants while Setrakian was working, I hid behind a pillow, okay? 
> 
> Let's just say that future warnings include non-con, dub-con, explicit sex, powerplay and lots more.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. I am boarding this ship with triple life vests and a sack of flares.

Abraham shivered as he walked in the line of his fellow camp prisoners. In the distance orders were bellowed in German and he could sense an unusual commosion in the air, but was too exhausted to make sense of what was happening. Malnourishment and lack of sleep had put his body in a constant state of low-key pain that seeped his mental energy and turned his thoughts lethargic. But his hands were the worst. The broken bones grated against each other and every breath and step he took sent a new spike of agony through his arms and chest. The clumsy, make-shift bandages did not help any.

Suddenly the person in front of him disappeared to the right and a hand against his chest stopped him in his tracks. He looked up, momentarily confused, only to meet the cold, blue eyes of Thomas Eichhorst.

”Are you not well?”

Abraham braced himself against the hint of concern in the other’s voice, knowing it to be false.

”I’m fine,” he replied, making every effort to keep his voice steady as the sharp eyes studied him.

”Do you hide something in your hands?”

”No, sir.” Abraham went cold, inwardly praying that Eichhorst would let it go.

”Show them to me.” Trembling, Abraham held up his broken hands for inspection and Eichhorst turned them slowly before unwrapping Abraham’s left hand. Every movement was agony and he fought not to scream. A few strangled sobs passed his lips and he hoped that Eichhorst would not notice. Or if he did, perhaps show a shred of mercy… when Eichhorst finally looked up from the mangled digits his face was blank, unreadable. For a moment Abraham thought he saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes, then Eichhorst turned and the moment passed.

Eichhorst put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards one of the armed soldiers. Through the din and and the voices, Abraham thought he heard him say ’put him in my car’ but he wasn’t sure and stumbled along as best as he could when the soldier gave him a hard nudge with his automatic rifle. He was indeed put in a sleek, black car, so he supposed that he had heard right after all.

Frightened, confused and in pain, he curled up in the back seat. Time passed, and to him it could have been minutes or hours, but the front car door opened and a man got in, closed the door and started the car. As they drove away Abraham realized that it was Eichhorst, but he did not dare to speak. If he had learned anything from the man in the driver’s seat, it was not to take initiatives. Never to speak out of turn or begin a conversation. It had dawned on him very quickly that Eichhorst was a sadist. Or, more accurately, a human monster. Feeding on fear and suffering like a _strigoi_ on blood.

Blue eyes briefly met his own in the rear view mirror.

”We are leaving, A230385.” Eichhorst’s voice was calm even as the car sped into the forest. Behind them, the sound of explosions and gun shots were getting fainter.

”Where are we going?” He had a million questions lined up. Was Eichhorst saving him? Surely not. If so, why? With the Third Reich crumbling, he understood why Eichhorst was leaving, but why bring Abraham?

”You will know soon enough.” That sounded ominous and Abraham fell silent and stayed like that until Eichhorst stopped the car and got out. He opened the passenger door and made a gesture for Abraham to get out. Abraham did, rather clumsily as he was unable to use his hands, and Eichhorst hauled him up by his arm. Abraham inhaled sharply before composing himself, earning another inscrutable look from Eichhorst. ”Ah look. How lucky we are,” Eichhorst said when the snow began to fall. Abraham’s pain-filled mind was unable to comprehend where the luck part played in, as he was shaking from the cold and the quickly thickening layer of snow on his head and shoulders was not helping. ”Come.”

Abraham’s thoughts turned to escape as he tried to walk steady. Just keeping on his feet was a challenge and Eichhorst steered him with a firm grip on his shoulder. They left the car deep in the woods, and after what seemed like forever to Abraham, they finally reached a well-hidden bunker.

As Eichhorst let go of him and started working on the locks, Abraham looked around. Could he run? Was it even wise? He hoped that the camp was under attack, that the prisoners were being set free, but what if that was not the case? Then the alternative to freezing to death in the forest would not be freedom, as he hoped, but death. In one incarnation or other. He shivered as another gust of wind bit into his worn prisoner garb. Would Eichhorst pursue? Somehow he imagined the older man to shoot him in the back if he tried to run…

”Have you decided?”

Abraham’s thoughts snapped back to the present and he looked at Eichhorst, who was now standing in front of the mostly hidden opening, watching him. One look at his face told Abraham that he might has well have read his mind, and he swallowed hard and held the blue gaze as steady as he could. He said nothing and Eichhorst’s thin lips twisted into a smile, which was more a show of teeth than anything else.

”I won’t kill you if you choose to go. You have my word.”

The grin widened as Eichhorst watched him intently. It was clear to Abraham that he was enjoying this. He obviously relished putting Abraham in an impossible situation, to force him to make a predictable choice while masquerading it as free will. All to prove some sort of philosophical point about the mechanism of the world, so that the horrors he bestowed upon it would be justified.

More than anything Abraham wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face, to be the mouse escaping from the labyrinth at last. For now he should be smart. He should follow Eichhorst and wait for a better opportunity. It might come. Or it might not. If he left now there was the overwhelming possibility of him dying, but he would die as a free man. As he turned around he caught the look of surprise on Eichhorst’s face, and saying nothing, he began walking away as steadily as he could manage.

Behind him Eichhorst’s chuckled, and his next words were tinged with amusement, and a hint of something else that Abraham couldn’t define.

”Artists, always so dramatic. Very well. Let me tell you what waits for you inside.” Eichhorst patted the camouflaged wall. ”Food. Warmth. Even something for your pain…” He paused. Abraham slowed to a halt, temptation tugging at him. To be warm? Not starving? No pain? No, no Eichhorst had to be lying! Why would he offer this to Abraham? He opened his mouth to ask.

”In a couple of days I will have a doctor take a look at your hands,” Eichhorst added before he could speak, and Abraham’s breath left him. What had pained him the most was not the physical agony of the injuries, which had nearly robbed him of his ability to think, but an overwhelming emptiness inside at the thought of never being able to use his hands again. That had very nearly robbed him of his will to live. Without thinking he turned around again, and stood there, swaying slightly from the motion.

”Why?” he rasped. ”Why would you do that for me?”

”Should I let your talents be destroyed?” Eichhorst replied evenly, throwing his hand out in a grand gesture. ”What kind of man would I be if I did that?”

_A monster_ , Abraham thought miserably. _You have seen thousands die, why am I any different in your eyes?_ Though still hesitant, he walked towards Eichhorst, who ushered him inside the bunker. The sound of the massive doors slamming shut behind them had a horrible finality to it.

The inside of the bunker was a lot larger than he would have thought from the outside. On one wall there was lockers and cabinets, even a couple of crates. In one corner there was a one-person bed that for some reason made Abraham feel slightly uncomfortable. Eichhorst started up a small generator and soon the room temperature rose to, if not comfortable, than less unbearable levels.

”Sit.”

Abraham obeyed, sitting down on the edge of the bed that Eichhorst had gestured to. He kept his eyes on the other, curious and fearful of what he might be up to. Eichhorst returned to the bed and pulled up a chair next to it so that they were sitting face to face. In his hands Eichhorst held a metal box that he opened, and revealed it to have first aid material.

”Give me your hands.”

Abraham did, this time without hesitation. But he couldn’t control the trembling and occasional twitches and soon Eichhorst frowned and took one hand in a firm hold while gently unwrapping it. Once exposed, his fingertips traced the damaged areas lightly.

Unused to the kind touch, Abraham’s sight blurred and he forced himself to hold it back. He desperately needed to break down, to crumble, to _react_ to the months of abuse and the unnatural monstrosity that stalked them amid the human monsters. One of which was currently deeply concentrated on his damaged hands.

”What happened?” Eichhorst murmured, glancing up. ”Who did this?”

He should have anticipated the question. Abraham’s eyes darted as he tried to remember what he had said to his friend before.

”T-the guards. They crushed my hands in the door…”

Eichhorst’s eyes narrowed.

”Are you lying to me, A230385?” His voice was low and soft, and he was gently massaging Abraham’s hands, carefully putting more and more pressure on the broken bones, grinding them against one another.

”No! Please stop!” Abraham whimpered, crying out as the pressure increased. ”Please! I lied! I’m sorry!” Eichhorst abruptly let go and Abraham cradled his hands to his chest, hissing in pain. His tormentor grabbed his face in a bruising grip and forced him to look him in the eye.

”The truth, please.” The demand was calmly spoken, without anger or irritation.

”There is a creature, it hunts in the barracks-” Abraham stuttered out between sobs, his lips trembling as he tried to stop crying. The tears, roused before by tenderness, now overflowed from pain and fear. ”I tried to kill it and failed…”

”I see.” Eichhorst looked thoughtful, and had Abraham not been in such a state he would have wondered about the lack of surprise and outrage. As it was he was only grateful that he had not angered Eichhorst further. ”Give me your hands.”

Abraham shook his head, holding his hands tightly to his chest. Eichhorst raised his eyebrows at this.

”Give me. Your hands,” he repeated, sounding so damn _reasonable._ When Abraham made no move to present his hands he sighed. ”I have the means to take away your pain. I will not ask again, jew.” Abraham blinked and at length he held out his hands. For a moment he thought that Eichhorst would refuse him, but after a few seconds of horrible silence the older man bent over his hands again. Abraham screamed as he straightened out his bent fingers more accurately than his friend had. He then used wooden spatels from the medicine box to keep the broken bones aligned and bandaged the hands.

As agonizing as it was, Abraham actually felt a little bit better when it was done. His hands felt less… wrong, with the odd angles straightened out.

”Thank you, sir.”

Eichhorst nodded and held up a syrette that he had fished out of the box.

”For the pain,” he said and Abraham presented his arm without hesitation, assuming that the syrette was filled with morphine. Eichhorst administered the shot and put away the medical kit.

”Why did you save me?” Abraham asked, relaxing ever so slightly. At first Eichhorst didn’t reply, only poured himself a glass of something Abraham thought was whiskey. Only after sampling it, Eichhorst took a deep breath and sighed.

”Because you belong to me.” The words were calmly spoken and factual, a simple statement that sent a wave of dread through Abraham.

”The war might already be over,” he replied, mouth dry and heart racing. ”I might already be free.”

Eichhorst laughed, a sound of pure delight. Abraham wondered how it could sound so horrifying.

”You will never be free, A230385.”

Abraham blinked, shaking his head slowly. Not true, not true, not true.

”That’s not true. I will be free again-I-”

”You will always belong to me.”

 


End file.
